


now you see me

by rumpledlinen



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-12
Updated: 2012-04-12
Packaged: 2017-11-03 13:21:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumpledlinen/pseuds/rumpledlinen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eduardo never got touched as a child - and now every touch means everything to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	now you see me

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted [here](http://mark-eduardo.livejournal.com/368440.html?thread=2887480#t2887480) at the mark_eduardo comm. 
> 
> warnings for slightly d/s overtones and silly, silly boys.

It’s always been this way, if Mark makes himself remember that far back.   
  
Back at Harvard, in between too much Red Bull and too many Red Vines, between night and day ( _his_  night and day, not everyone else's, because night is when he isn't working and he only isn't working when he can't anymore, and days stretch on and on for him, until he can barely stand, can do nothing but fall into bed), Eduardo was always there.   
  
Until he became  _Wardo_ , permanently fixed himself into Mark's life, a constant stream of touches, feather-light on his skin.   
  
And - the thing is - Mark loved it. He didn't realize what was going on, didn't see it for what he should have, but he loved it, more than anyone should love being touched in the most innocent of senses – more than he ever has, because he’s never been the type for casual affection, for touches without a purpose.

  


A hand on his back, though, or an almost-forced (though not really, of course) hug – it’s okay, when it’s Wardo. Most things are okay, when they’re Wardo.   
  
Mark's never been a touchy-feely person. He's never been one for this sort of thing - whenever Dustin got too drunk and too handsy Mark extricated himself from the situation, because it reminded him too much of his family, of what he left behind for his dreams (he doesn’t regret it, though, can’t regret it, and he knows they’re okay with him having left – they get it).   
  
(He feels strange, calling his life's work his dream, but he supposes that's what it is - a dream that took over, everything, until everyone that wasn't Facebook, that he wasn't positive had Facebook's best interest at heart, was shut out.   
  
His mother sends him messages on  _his website_ , sometimes, and he has to shake his head at the surrealism of it all, at the way things worked out, somehow.)   
  
But Wardo - Wardo was there from the beginning, and he gave Mark's shoulder a squeeze the first time that he saw him.   
  
That's how it started, Mark thinks - with a touch on the arm, the gentlest of touches, barely there. Compared to everything else, nothing - but it meant everything, even then, even if he didn't realize it.   
  
It took him a long time to figure out what it all meant - it wasn't until after  _point zero three percent_  and  _I was your only friend_ , after too many nights missing him, that Mark realized anything, that he understood what it all was, what it all meant.   
  
Mark Zuckerberg doesn't miss people. Mark's never really missed anyone - until Eduardo left, until he didn't have that anymore.   
  
He'd thought Wardo would be there for the long haul. They all did, all wanted him to be there until the end.   
  
He could have been, too, Mark thinks - even now, years after the fact. He could have been there until the end, until Mark got it together enough to - confess something. To touch back, in a way, because Wardo always seemed to love it when Mark reciprocated, though the times were few and far between.   
  
He sees it, now.   
  
Now, if he were to have Wardo back, he'd give his all, because he knows - Wardo's worth it, what Wardo and he might have been if Mark weren't so stupid were  _worth it_.   
  
He closes his eyes.

  


//

 

He's happy, these days.   
  
He tells himself that he's happy - or if that he isn't, he's at least content with the way that his life has gone, with what he's become. He got what he wanted, in terms of Facebook, and he wouldn't change that for anything.   
  
Not even Wardo - because as much as he might miss him, he's not an idiot. He made the decision that he should have, in picking Facebook. It’s infinitely more than he could have hoped and it’s fantastic, wonderful,  _worth it_.    
  
The thing is - it's that he almost regrets it, sometimes. He's not used to regretting things, not used to changing his mind about decisions made in the past, and now when he looks at pictures of Wardo, of  _them_ , he feels a pang in his chest.   
  
He's moved on, but not enough. Not totally.   
  
He doesn't know if he ever will.

  


//

  


Dustin gets him drunk, one night.   
  
"You look like a kicked puppy," he'd decided, "and it's the anniversary of the dilution and I think you need to get drunk."   
  
(Dustin always says it like that - blunt, matter-of-fact, while Chris tiptoes around any mention of Wardo. Mark prefers Dustin's ways. It's harder to feel guilty when people aren't worried about setting you off.)   
  
And so Mark is sitting in Dustin's apartment, and they're smashed beyond belief, and Mark is thinking about things he shouldn't be thinking about.   
  
It's been a while since they've done this - since Dustin's managed to get Mark to drink with him, away from the offices. Mark's head is spinning and he's going to  _hate_  himself tomorrow, but for now, he's almost grateful to Dustin.   
  
"I miss him," he says, sighs out. "I really fucking miss him."   
  
"I know," Dustin says, and of course he does, but he doesn't push. It's almost unlike him, but Mark isn't complaining.   
  
"I want to call him," he says, matter-of-fact.   
  
Dustin shakes his head. "No, I don't think -"   
  
"I'm not going to - to tell him that I love him. I want to - to see how he is."   
  
Dustin half-smiles. "Why don't you just check his Facebook?"   
  
And so here Mark is, looking at one  _Eduardo Saverin's_  Facebook page. He's single, never been married, and he looks - happy, according to all of his pictures.   
  
Mark swallows, and types a simple message that takes him too long to get right.   
  
_ Eduardo,  
  
How have you been?  
  
Just wanted to say hello.  
  
Mark _   
  
It doesn't say everything that he wants it to, doesn't come close, but it's a start.   
  
He only hopes Eduardo will take this for what it is - a peace offering, of sorts.   
  
He closes his eyes, suddenly exhausted, and Dustin's snoring on the chair.   
  
It's all so much like Harvard that he can't begin to make sense of it, and he falls asleep there, on the couch, curled up.   
  
He hopes Wardo responds, hopes something can happen - but he won't hold his breath.   
  
If it doesn't work, well, it's his own fault.

  


//

  


It's a while before he gets a response.   
  
At least, it's a while for him - ever since he discovered the computer, discovered what he could do and control, he hasn't been able to pull himself away for too long, and so a day without a response tears him up inside - because how can he be that important, if it doesn't warrant a response until then? - but this is  _Wardo_ , he reminds himself, Wardo who isn't Dustin, who isn’t Facebook, who isn't glued to his computer.   
  
(His Facebook might be wrong, even - he might have someone, a significant other, and that leaves a bad taste in Mark's mouth but he has to keep reminding himself that it's his own goddamn fault if Wardo's moved on. He hopes Wardo's moved on, even - he deserves it, deserves someone who makes him happy, deserves to be absolutely happy.   
  
He tries not to think about the fact that he used to make Wardo happy, that he used to be enough.   
  
That bridge might have been burned. And it’d be his own fault.)   
  
It's days before he gets a response, seven days, a full  _week_ , and in that week he goes on a coding binge like he hasn't since Harvard, three days of nothing but letters burned behind his eyelids.   
  
He sleeps, then, for too long, and when he gets up there's a message from Eduardo.   
  
_ Mark  
  
I've been good. And yourself?  
  
We should meet sometime. Talk in person, this feels too impersonal. On my end, at least - you're probably used to it. Let me know.  
  
Eduardo _   
  
He closes his eyes and feels almost relieved, at this - because this means Eduardo can't hate him, that he might become  _Wardo_  again.   
  
If he gets that chance - if he can have his  _Wardo_  back, he's not going to fuck it up.   
  
//   
  
He gets Wardo's number from Dustin ( _Eduardo_ , he tries to remind himself, but it doesn't work) and they have a slightly stilted conversation before Mark asks to meet him at a coffeeshop.   
  
For once, he gets there early (it's because this  _matters_ ) and he spends too long sitting there, by himself, deciding what he's going to say - and then Eduardo walks in.   
  
He looks good - he looks as though he's come into his confidence, has an easy grace that Mark almost envies. He stands up, holds out a hand, because he’s polite now, okay, and a smile plays at the corners of Eduardo's mouth as he grips it, shakes, once.   
  
They sit down and stare for a long moment.   
  
Mark swallows. "I'm sorry." It's not how he intended to start, but it's all he can think of to say.   
  
Eduardo frowns. "For what?"   
  
"The way I handled the dilution."   
  
Eduardo blinks at him, taking a sip of his coffee. "Getting right to the point, I see."   
  
Mark shrugs. "I see no reason to beat around the bush." He bites his lip. "I am, though," and this comes out soft.   
  
Eduardo waves a hand. "I know." He pauses. "It's not all right, but I don't think that should hinder - anything."   
  
"You mean a friendship."   
  
Eduardo inclines his head, the same small smile back.   
  
Mark breathes, and he feels like he's back at Harvard again, like he's always felt around Wardo - safe. He reaches across the table, because he can, because he thinks he should, and squeezes Eduardo's hand, once. "I really have missed you."   
  
Eduardo swallows, thick, looking shell-shocked, and nods. It's a moment before he responds, a soft, "Me, too."   
  
It feels like the beginning of something - Mark isn't sure what, but he knows he likes it.   
  
(This time, he won't fuck it up.)

  


//

  


It's different, now.   
  
It's different and the same; Mark is still  _Mark_. He still works too much and sleeps too little, and that's never been a problem until now - his friends have all been there since Harvard, know this is how he gets.   
  
The problem, though, is that Eduardo was there, too, saw what he was like then, and Mark wants to prove to him that he's not the same person, not in the ways that matter. His sleeping habits aren’t important – this, proving that he can handle being a functioning human being, is.   
  
(Eduardo is still the same - he's endlessly kind and funny and he touches Mark just as much as before.   
  
That's different, too - the flipping of Mark's stomach like he's five fucking years old, the way he almost gets tongue-tied around him, the way he never wants Eduardo to let go when he gives him a hug.   
  
That's new.)

  


//

  


After a week of Wardo ( _Eduardo_ , he reminds himself) being there, he invites Mark out to dinner.   
  
"Just something nice, casual," he says, and he's smiling. "I don't really get to spend time with you, you know? You're - I don't want it to be strange, but -"   
  
"I'd love to," Mark says, quick, because he would.   
  
He leaves the office at six, because they can manage without him for one night, and they meet at a small Mexican restaurant. Eduardo looks good, not dressed up but not dressed down, either, and Mark feels small, young, in his jeans and a t-shirt.   
  
"You look nice," Eduardo says, because that's the kind of person he is, and he wraps an arm around Mark's neck, smiles down at him. "Shall we?"   
  
"We shall," Mark says, and oh  _god_  when did he turn into a character in a romance novel?   
  
(He  _isn't_  one, he reminds himself, because he and Wardo aren't in a relationship. He wants to add a  _yet_  to that, but he doesn't know how Wardo feels about it all.   
  
He wants to know, wants to understand, but he's not sure if Wardo will let him.)   
  
The conversation is light, easy. Eduardo talks about his work, Singapore, the weather (because he still loves weather and how can Mark ask him to stop when he gets that  _look_  in his eyes?), and Mark tries not to talk about his work, but he doesn't have anything else in his life.   
  
He has a beer, or two, and he says it to Eduardo, then. "I don't have a life outside of Facebook."   
  
Eduardo stiffens. "Oh?"   
  
Mark nods. "I just - I wanted to. I want to, now." He frowns. "But - I don't know how I'm supposed to - do that. I don't make friends easily." He looks down.   
  
"Hey." Eduardo reaches out, grabs his wrist. "I'm your friend, Mark. Okay? I like you. This is easy. It can be easy."   
  
Mark stares at it for too long, and the words  _I want you to be more_  are on his tongue - but he doesn't know what Eduardo wants and so what he says is, "I want to call you Wardo."   
  
He gets a grin from the other end of the table. "Why don't you then?"   
  
"Because you have every right to hate me and I don't want that to be the cause of more of it."   
  
Wardo's staring at him, now, looking concerned, and Mark realizes - too late - that he's said too much. He stands, looks for their waiter. He's not drunk but he's  _said too much_  and Wardo's going to leave him again - and Mark wouldn't blame him if he did.   
  
(He deserves to be left.)   
  
"Hey," and this comes out sharp.    
  
Mark looks at him.   
  
Wardo grabs his wrist again, tight. "I'm not going anywhere."   
  
Mark closes his eyes, and nods.   
  
//   
  
After they finally get out, Wardo walks him home, because he's a gentleman, and this wasn't a date but it feels like one.   
  
Mark isn't drunk but his tongue got loosened and he can't do that, around Wardo, not with everything that happened.   
  
"This is it," Mark says, smiling. "Thank you."   
  
Wardo puts a hand on his arm, squeezes, soft. "Good night," and he's smiling, wide.   
  
Mark's so close he could kiss him, if he wanted - but instead he reaches up, gives Wardo a hug.   
  
He hears a small noise, and when Wardo pulls away he seems nervous, or something.   
  
"Good night," Mark says, and he goes inside.

  


//

  


It’s Wardo, that starts it.

  


Of course it is. Mark wouldn’t, can’t, but –

  


"Mark," Wardo whispers, one night, sitting in his car, and it's been a week since the  _hug_ , since their friendship turned into what it was before, a constant game of toeing the line between more and less, " _Mark_."   
  
Mark turns his head, and smiles.   
  
Wardo reaches up, puts a hand on the side of Mark's face, and he turns into the touch, eyes fluttering shut, grabbing Wardo's other hand.   
  
Wardo lets out a soft noise, like he did before, and Mark barely has time to react before Wardo’s  _kissing_  him, harsh, nipping teeth - and Mark can do nothing but kiss back, eyes shut tight, hands wrapping around his neck, and the seatbelt is digging into him but he doesn’t care.   
  
"Mark, fuck," and Wardo's breathing is ragged, "we should - go somewhere?"   
  
Mark would go anywhere with him - and he's forever going to blame that thought on the way that Wardo looks right now, absolutely perfect. He nods, quick, and Wardo manages to get them to Mark’s house, somehow.   
  
And then there is more kissing, harsh, and Mark's sighing into Wardo's mouth and Wardo's hands are  _everywhere_ , on his back and his hips, and when Mark wraps his hands around Wardo's waist, he lets out the most delicious moan, pressing against Mark.   
  
He's hard, and Mark can't even think about what that might mean, right now - but he needs to blow Wardo, or something, now.   
  
"Wardo," he hisses out, biting at his lip before pulling away - and he looks perfect in this light, eyes wide and hair messed up, and he pulls off Wardo’s shirt, impatient. "Wardo, can I -" and he puts a hand on the waist of Wardo's jeans, licking over his lower lip.   
  
He gets a nod and then Mark’s pushing him against the bed, kissing him hard, and Wardo's arching into his touch and moaning. Mark wraps his lips around a nipple, hands pressing down into Wardo's hips, and just like that - without his cock being touched, without  _anything_  else, Wardo's coming, hard, gasping out harsh breaths.   
  
And Mark - well, he can't fucking breathe after that, and he starts to jerk himself off, rough, before Wardo pushes him aside, hands gripping his hips, and wraps his lips around him, moving quickly.   
  
It doesn't take long for Mark to come, and when it's done, when he's calmer, he curls into Wardo, hand trailing patterns up his side.   
  
"You like being touched," he says, flat, and Wardo stiffens.   
  
"I just - I don't - yes," he finally says.   
  
Mark closes his eye, smiling, stupid with it. "It's not a bad thing," and this comes out weak. "Fuck, Wardo, I -  _fuck_."   
  
He gets a grin and a kiss to the top of his head.   
  
He doesn't understand, yet, doesn't even know what  _this_  is (yet) but he has faith, for whatever reason, that he'll understand it soon enough.   
  
He has faith in this.

 

//

 

Mark wakes up late, the next morning.   
  
It's the first time he's gotten a decent night's sleep in he doesn't know how long, and he spends a moment just looking at Wardo, smiling, trailing a hand down his arm - and he wants this, wants it so much it hurts, but he has to be  _sure_  that this means the same to both of them. He isn't going to let himself hurt Wardo, not again, isn't going to let anything like that happen.   
  
Not this time.   
  
Wardo stirs and Mark can't help but kiss him, and it's a kiss full of morning breath but he doesn't mind.   
  
Wardo grins, and nuzzles into Mark's chest, and he's actually never been this happy - which is scary but not unexpected because this is  _Wardo_ , Wardo that he loves so desperately he can't function.   
  
"Mark," comes the sleepy sigh, and he smiles, kisses the top of Wardo's head.   
  
"I'm glad you slept here," he says, soft, and winces - because that's not how you start a conversation like this, and more than that, he’s happy Wardo  _woke up_ here.   
  
Wardo looks up, and he looks worried, which is insane - he should never be worried around Mark, never have to worry about him.   
  
"I'm - I can leave, if you want." This comes, soft, small.   
  
Mark's shaking his head before he has time to properly register what Wardo's said. "Stay," he says, and reaches out, puts a hand on Wardo's waist. "Please."   
  
Wardo looks at him for a long moment, and Mark watches his breathing quicken, watches as he stares at Mark, eyes flicking to his lips.   
  
"I want you to stay - I want you to -" Mark gets out, and that's all he can because Wardo's kissing him, again.   
  
It's like before, needy, desperate, but there's a feeling of tenderness in the way that his hand wraps around Mark's shoulder, pulling him closer.   
  
Mark pulls away, shakes his head, because he needs to know, needs to be  _sure_. "Is this - is this real?" he asks, voice wrecked.   
  
Wardo nods, quick, and kisses him again. "Mark," he whispers. "I - please." He pauses. "I -"   
  
"Is this going to be -" and Mark can barely finish but he needs to, has to know, and Wardo’s nodding at him, "- is this going to be something -" and then Mark’s kissing him again, has to, because it's everything that he's wanted for too long but hasn't been able to touch, and now he can.   
  
//   
  
Later, Wardo smiles at him, kisses the tip of his nose.   
  
Mark bites his lip. “So we’re – dating, yes?”

 

Wardo laughs but nods, relief evident on his face, and pulls him in for a kiss.   
  
He hasn't dated anyone in too long, not really dated, and he links his fingers together with Wardo's, pulls him close.   
  
Wardo makes a small sound at that, and Mark wants to ask why, wants to know why he's so responsive - but that's a question for another time.   
  
They  _have_  time, now, and it's wonderful.

 

//   
  
Wardo visits him, more often than he did before  _this_  started, and it always turns into the same thing - kissing, heavy and desperate, and quick orgasms with Mark's teeth buried in Wardo's neck.  
  
But now - it's been long enough (two weeks) that he thinks he can stop him just before Wardo's hand travels down Mark's pants, and he pushes himself up, looks at Wardo. "You get off on being touched, don't you?"  
  
Wardo turns bright pink and mumbles something that Mark doesn't catch.  
  
"Hey," he says, and it's soft - and he's panting but this is important. He wants to know what turns Wardo on, wants to know what he  _gets off_  on - and it's really fucking hot. He trails a hand down Wardo's side, feather-light, and Wardo's hips tilt up, teeth dig into his lower lip. Mark swallows. "You think you could get off without me touching your cock?"  
  
"Already – did," Wardo says, forces out, and he's shaking, already. “Don’t you remember?”  
  
Mark nods, breathing harsh, and he closes his eyes. He has to know, doesn’t know why but he does – he wants to understand this little part of Wardo that’s so far eluded him. “Why?”  
  
Wardo shakes his head. “I’ll tell you later.” Mark’s fingers grip his hip, tighter, and he gasps out a “ _Please_.”   
  
It’s the begging that gets him to nod, to kiss Wardo again, and he keeps a hand pressing down against Wardo’s hips, hard. “Don’t move,” he whispers.   
  
Wardo nods, quick, and bites his lip. Mark trails his nails up Wardo’s side again, and he moves to his neck, sucking a dark bruise there.   
  
Wardo lets out a moan that he can’t stifle, but he cuts himself off at the end, turning a light pink.   
  
“Don’t,” Mark whispers, pressing a thumb into the mark, “I want to hear you. Come on, Wardo.”   
  
“Mark,” he whispers, and his voice is wrecked and they haven’t gotten to the actual  _sex_  yet – and this shouldn’t be as much of a turn-on as it is. “Mark, please – something, anything.”   
  
Mark nods. He trails his nails down Wardo’s chest, now, light enough that Wardo can barely feel it, can only squirm underneath him, and he smiles, bites at Wardo’s neck again.   
  
“That’s going to leave a mark,” he says, and looks at Wardo, almost for permission – because he’s not sure he was allowed to do that.   
  
“Good,” Wardo whispers, and he leans up, kissing Mark, hard.   
  
Mark hisses through his teeth and kisses back, hands wrapping around Wardo’s waist, and he feels Wardo get impossibly harder, press himself against Mark.   
  
“Fuck,” Mark whispers, and pushes him down, hands fumbling with Wardo’s belt. “ _Fuck_ ,” and he gets a hand wrapped around Wardo’s cock, and it doesn’t take long – a few strokes, quick – for Wardo to come, biting down on Mark’s lip.   
  
Before he can do anything, before Wardo’s even calmed down, he’s flipping Mark over, hand pressing down into his jeans, getting them off quickly, stroking him – and Mark can’t keep himself quiet, can only squeeze his eyes shut and try to stifle his gasps.   
  
Wardo kisses him and he comes then, body arching up, and he needs a moment to just let himself relax, because  _fuck_.

 

“Come here,” he whispers, and Wardo crawls toward him, lies down next to him. Mark presses his face into his chest, wraps an arm around him, and Wardo hums, happy.   
  
Mark grins. “Shower?” he asks.   
  
Wardo looks down at him and Mark feels his heart rate speed up, because he has  _want_  in his gaze and that’s not something Mark’s used to seeing from people but he’ll take it. “Yeah,” he whispers, and clears his throat. “Come on.”   
  
And so they take a shower, and Mark washes Wardo, presses him against the wall, and by the time he’s through Wardo’s a panting mess, squirming against him.   
  
“Mark,” he whispers, letting out another moan, choked-off, “come on.”   
  
“I’m just trying to help you out,” Mark says, and he can’t keep the laughter out of his voice.    
  
“You little shit,” Wardo whispers, but he’s smiling, and he kisses Mark, then, surprising him. “You can fuck me, if you like,” he whispers against Mark’s lips.   
  
Mark freezes, and Wardo pulls away.    
  
“If – if you want to, that is,” he says, and he sounds nervous, now.   
  
And Mark  _does_  want to, more than he’s ever wanted anything, but – he’s scared, almost. Mark shakes his head, smiles. “Another time,” he says, and his voice is rough.   
  
Wardo nods, though he looks almost sad, and Mark finally wraps his hand around his cock, stroking him lightly, other hand pressed into his hip.   
  
Wardo’s moving against the wall – and it’s so fucking  _hot_ , how responsive he is, the way he can’t seem to get enough of Mark’s touch, the incredible way he can’t control himself when he gets it.   
  
Mark bites at his shoulder and moves down, sucking at his nipple, and Wardo comes with a shout, sliding a bit against the wall.   
  
“Mark,” he whispers, and looks up at Mark, half-dazed. “Fuck.”   
  
Mark grins. “I know,” and he’s laughing again.   
  
It doesn’t take long for Wardo to reciprocate, getting down on his knees for Mark, and it doesn’t take long at all for him to come.   
  
//   
  
Later, Mark is lying down with Wardo, tracing patterns onto his stomach.   
  
“Why?” he finally asks, looking up at Wardo.    
  
He swallows. “It’s really not a big deal.”   
  
“It is to me,” Mark says, and he surprises himself by actually meaning it.   
  
It’s the beginning of the relationship, but he’s meant everything to Mark for too long to ignore something like this. If it was something fun, he’d be able to let it go – but he’s guessing, by Wardo’s hesitation, that it’s not something small, that it’s something that might mean everything.    
  
“It’s just how I show affection,” Wardo says, and he’s rubbing a circle into Mark’s shoulder. “I don’t – I didn’t – and I know, now, that when people – contact means love, or something like it.” He opens his mouth but shuts it quickly, doesn’t say anything else.   
  
Mark nods, and the words  _I love you_  are on the tip of his tongue but he won’t say it, can’t do that to Wardo. He’ll wait until later, until it won’t feel forced, until Wardo isn’t pulled taut, like Mark’s going to hurt him.   
  
He doesn’t think that’s the whole of the story, thinks his father is involved, but he can understand why Wardo likes it, now – and he’ll accept that.

 

//

 

There is a point where Wardo has to go back to Singapore.   
  
He lived there, he tells Mark, who understands, really - but he doesn't want to let him go, curls his fingers into Wardo's jacket because he wants to keep him close.   
  
The words  _I love you_  are on the tip of his tongue then, too, but he won't say them (yet), because he wants it to mean something and right before he leaves seems cheap, almost.   
  
It isn't that he's not sure of his feelings; he's sure, and if he wasn't he would be as soon as Wardo looked at him, as soon as he got a smile.    
  
He knows he loves Wardo because he's  _always_  known he loves him - and when he wakes up, now, sometimes Wardo is there and he can't help the stupid smiles that make his way across his face, can't help pulling him close and just breathing him in.   
  
//   
  
Wardo is going back to Singapore and it's not for a long time, in the slightest, but Mark doesn't want to let him go.   
  
"Stay," he says, under his breath, holding him tight in the car, and Wardo pulls away, looking surprised.   
  
"Mark?" he says, and he brings up a hand to cup the side of his face, fingers whisper-soft against his cheekbone. "You're -  _Mark_ ," and they're going to have to get out of the car soon, Wardo has to go, but Mark leans into the touch, because maybe he's grown a bit dependent on him.   
  
"I'm sorry," Mark gets out, forces out, and squeezes his eyes shut, forces himself to pull away, look out the window. "Have a safe trip," and he hopes that Wardo understands that he isn't trying to be an asshole, that this is simply all that he can do, now.   
  
"Mark," he hears, again, and he half-turns his head to Wardo pressing his lips against his cheek, hands wrapping around Mark's shoulders. "I don't want to leave, either," and at that, Mark relaxes against him, because even now, even after the everything of now, he's terrified of wanting this too much, more than Wardo, of being too eager after everything's happened.   
  
And he could say something silly like  _then don't_  but he won't, because he isn't that brand of asshole and he sees, now, how much he has to be making Wardo hurt by keeping him here.   
  
"You'll be back?" he asks, and his voice cracks, embarrassingly, but Wardo ignores it, to nod.   
  
"Two weeks from tomorrow," Mark says, and he smiles.

 

//

 

Mark doesn't like being alone.   
  
He's never minded it before, but Wardo all but moved into his house and now - well, Mark doesn't know what to do with all of this empty space, doesn't know how to fill it with things that aren't Wardo.   
  
He doesn't  _want_  to fill it with anyone but Wardo, either.   
  
He sits at the table in the morning (because Wardo's started to make him eat breakfast, now, where he never did before) and he eats cereal by himself and he misses the conversation, the phantom bump of a hip against his, warm coffee pressed into his hand, Wardo waiting for a kiss.   
  
(He's fucking pathetic but he thinks Wardo likes him anyway, and that's enough.   
  
He doesn't need anyone else's opinion but Wardo's, anyway.)   
  
//   
  
He waits only a day before texting Wardo, tries to be subtle.   
  
_ So how was the flight? How's Singapore? _   
  
He gets a reply nearly instantly.   
  
_ It's the same as it was when I left. It'd be nicer if you were here. :) _   
  
Mark's hands are shaking when he reads it, because he doesn't know what to do with all of this - has never put much stock in love and the feelings that everyone else talks about but he feels it, now, crashing over him, engulfing him, and he understands in that moment why so many songs have been written about it, why everyone wants it.   
  
He waits too long to reply, though, because -   
  
_ I'm sorry, was that too much? I onlly mean tthat I"m not used to being by msyelf. _   
  
And the typos, so obviously ignored by him in his haste to get across to Mark how little he cares, really (so long as Mark doesn't care either) only endear Wardo more to him, and he can't help the stupid smile.   
  
He can't text anymore, calls him instead.   
  
"Hello?" and Wardo sounds rushed, nervous.   
  
"I miss you, too, you idiot," Mark says, and laughs.   
  
Wardo's voice is pleased when he responds, and pitched lower than before. "I really do think you'd love it here."   
  
"If you were there, I'm sure I would. You make everything enjoyable," Mark says, almost absently, sitting down at his laptop.   
  
There's a moment of silence.   
  
Mark clears his throat. "Wardo?"   
  
"I - nothing," and, okay, he sounds stupidly happy.   
  
Mark goes over what he's said, and - "This is real," he says, almost in awe.   
  
Wardo swallows; Mark can fucking  _hear_  it. "Of course it is."   
  
"No, I mean - of course - but -" and Mark's eyes close. "I can't - I miss you," and what he means is  _I love you_  but he won't say it over the phone, either.   
  
"You, too," Wardo says, almost dazed, and Mark hears a noise and then Wardo's saying, "I have to go, Mark, but I'll talk to you soon, yeah?"   
  
Mark smiles. "Of course," and he means it.   
  
//   
  
He misses having someone to hold.   
  
Sleeping alone before Wardo and sleeping alone after Wardo are two entirely different things, and it's only two weeks but it feels like more.   
  
He doesn't want to sleep, now, doesn't want to crawl into the bed that's too big, that isn't warm enough, without Wardo there.   
  
And so he reverts back into his old habits, codes until he can't see, sleeps a couple of hours a night at most, and misses Wardo more than he can say.   
  
They talk, of course, but it's different than having him in person and Mark's never counted down the days to anything before but before Wardo he never had anyone to count down for.

 

//

 

Mark can't help himself, when Wardo gets back.   
  
He'd insisted on driving himself until Mark couldn't argue anymore, and Mark's sitting on his laptop, waiting for him.   
  
Wardo opens the door and Mark's up too quickly, nearly running to him, and he all but throws his arms around him, hugging him tight.   
  
Wardo makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat, holding him right back. "Mark," he says, and that's it.   
  
Mark presses his face into the juncture between Wardo's neck and his shoulder, breathing him in. He smells like the airplane and stale sweat and Mark should let him go, let him change, but he can't, won't. "I missed you so much," and it comes out as a whisper but Wardo hears him loud and clear.   
  
"You, too, Mark."   
  
They stand there for a while, until Mark starts to feel silly (because Wardo likes touching but maybe not like that, maybe only during sex, maybe -), and he pulls away just a bit.   
  
"No," Wardo says, and it comes out as a half-growl. His arms tighten and pull Mark close again. He kisses Mark, then, and it's a gentle press of lips until it isn't, until it's more - and then Wardo's turning them around, pressing Mark against the wall, hard.   
  
"Wardo -" he chokes out, and his head thunks against the door but it doesn't matter because Wardo's slamming their lips together, biting at him almost harshly.   
  
"Bed?" Mark gets out between kisses, and Wardo shakes his head, dropping to his knees.    
  
"Here," he says, and there's so much force in his voice that Mark can only nod, let a hand go to Wardo's hair, tugging the slightest bit.   
  
Wardo doesn't waste any time sucking him down, and Mark's on the edge too, too quickly, hand tugging harder on Wardo's hair, a warning.   
  
Wardo nods, and his hand grips Mark's thigh hard, and Mark's coming so hard he sees stars, slumping back against the door, sliding down it.   
  
Before the fog is gone he's pushing at Wardo, kissing him hard, and Wardo's back is on the floor and Mark's hand is in his pants before he's entirely settled.   
  
The angle is wrong but he's sucking at Wardo's neck and thumbing at a nipple, and Wardo's coming, hard, hips moving against Mark and choking out an endless stream of Portuguese.   
  
When he's through, Mark lies down next to him, hand stroking across Wardo's stomach. They're both mostly still dressed, but after a while - well, Mark will properly welcome him home.   
  
"I -" Mark starts, and pauses, licks his lips.   
  
Wardo turns his head. "Yeah?" and it comes out soft.   
  
Mark shakes his head. "I'm just happy you're here," because he feels it and he wants to say it but he doesn't know how, now, doesn't know if Wardo would believe it, accept it, feel it back.   
  
Wardo smiles, and a hand cards through Mark's hair, scratching at his scalp. "Should we clean up?" he asks.   
  
Mark shakes his head. He feels raw, somehow, and this is no different from what they've done before but he wants to keep Wardo close. "Please," he says, and he doesn't say it often but he needs to feel Wardo with him.   
  
He's had too little sleep, spent too long without him - and perhaps he's being stupid, if  _too long_  is two weeks, but Wardo doesn't seem to mind.   
  
Mark hugs him tight and then Wardo's letting out a desperate noise, and he maneuvers himself so he's curled into Mark, face pressed into his neck, and he's breathing in tight breaths.   
  
Mark stiffens, and looks down at him. "Wardo?"   
  
"I'm fine," and it's muffled. "Just - I just want a moment here."   
  
And Mark doesn't know what to do with that, because they're lying on a hard floor and there's come drying in Wardo's trousers but he seems happy, here, with  _Mark_  of all people.   
  
(Wardo deserves so much better than Mark, but he doesn't want anyone else. For whatever reason, he wants to be here as much as Mark wants him to, and how can he turn him away?)

 

Finally, Wardo sits up, runs a hand through his hair. He looks down at his clothes, and laughs - his shirt is wrinkled and his jeans have spots on them.   
  
"I'll have them cleaned," Mark says, and sits up as well, putting a hand on top of Wardo's. He smiles at him, a small smile, and Wardo kisses him, soft.   
  
"I appreciate that," Wardo says, and stands up, stretching - and Mark shouldn't be turned on at the flash of his stomach, but he can't help staring. Without meaning to, his hand reaches up, strokes across the strip of skin, before he pushes himself up.   
  
Wardo laughs, mouth open and happy, and grabs Mark's hand, tangling their fingers together. "You are delightful," he says, and Mark's never thought anything like that about himself but he believes it, now - or, at least, believes that  _Wardo_  believes it, which is nearly as good.   
  
"Shower?" he asks, and Wardo nods.   
  
//   
  
They stay in the shower a long time and when they get out they fall into bed together, talk about everything and anything. Mark's not doing any work for Facebook tonight - he's done more than enough for the past two weeks and his younger self would have scoffed at anything being more important than Facebook but his younger self didn't have this Wardo, didn't have Wardo in  _this_  way.   
  
(He's never been this happy and it's the most terrifying and exhilarating thought he's ever had.)   
  
It's later, when their legs are tangled together and their faces are so close that their breaths mingle, that Wardo talks about it.   
  
"My father isn't the best person," he says, out of nowhere, and Mark shakes his head.   
  
"But - I mean, I know he loves me. At least, I think he does." Wardo's eyes close, and Mark stares at the lines of his face, the crease between his eyebrows.   
  
(He never wants to be the cause of an expression like that, not on Wardo, who deserves all of the happiness in the world, in the least cheesy way.)   
  
"I just - when I was younger, he never showed it. Neither of them showed it. I just - they didn't - ours wasn't a house filled with hugs, you know what I mean?"   
  
Mark nods, because he understands even if he doesn't know what it's like. He reaches out, grabs Wardo's hand, links their fingers together.   
  
Wardo's grip turns almost painful but he keeps his eyes closed. "I grew up knowing that the rare occasions when they did hug me meant love, respect. And - that's stayed with me." He opens his eyes, now. "It means affection. I don't know how else to show it."   
  
"You don't need another way," Mark says, and it's too simple, isn't enough, but Wardo's nodding like it is.   
  
He doesn't say anything else, neither of them do - Wardo stares at him with eyes too-wide and Mark looks back, lets himself look because it's okay.   
  
"You deserved more than that," Mark says, finally, and Wardo's turning away, shaking his head, but Mark follows, arm wrapping around him. He whispers the next part in Wardo's ear. "You deserve all of the affection in the world, Wardo," and it's the cheesiest thing he could have said but Wardo turns himself back around, presses himself into Mark, and there's a long moment when neither of them move, just lie there.   
  
"Thank you," Wardo finally says, and his voice is broken.   
  
"Anytime, Wardo."   
  
And he means it.   
  
(He'd go to the ends of the world for Wardo, and he doesn't know how to show it.   
  
He can only hope Wardo understands.)   
  
The next morning, at breakfast, Wardo kisses him on the tip of the nose when he's making waffles and Mark doesn't miss anything, anymore.

  


//

  


Everything is fine, until it isn't.   
  
It starts with something small, with "Mark? It's time to eat dinner."   
  
Mark rips his headphones down to his shoulders, glares at Wardo as though it's going to make him go away (it won't, he's found). "I need to finish this."   
  
"You need to eat," and Wardo puts a hand on his shoulder.   
  
Mark shakes him off, shaking his head. "I need to finish this."   
  
Wardo straightens. "Fine." His voice is clipped, even, but Mark doesn't notice, focusing again on the update.   
  
It's not that Facebook is more important than Wardo, it's just that it needs more attention right now.   
  
And if Wardo doesn't get it, fuck that. Fuck him.   
  
(Mark's going to pretend he doesn't care.)   
  
//   
  
They argue, that night.   
  
Wardo's yelling at him about dinner and Mark hasn't slept in too long and he's not entirely sure what's going on until he hears, "I'm out of here, asshole" and the door slamming.   
  
Mark stares at the place where Wardo was.   
  
He rolls his eyes.   
  
He doesn't give a fuck.   
  
So Wardo wants to leave? Good. Fine and fucking dandy because Mark doesn't give a shit.   
  
//   
  
It's a day before he lets himself think about Wardo.   
  
Twenty-four hours and Mark's coded for most of them, stopping only for Red Bull and bathroom breaks.   
  
He's at the office and Dustin and Chris are staring at him and Mark's pretty sure Eduardo's staying with one of them but he doesn't know which.   
  
He doesn't much care to find out.   
  
He keeps coding.   
  
//   
  
He hears words going on above him but above it all he hears  _asshole_  and so he keeps typing, past all of them.   
  
"Wardo's going back to Singapore," he hears Dustin say and snaps his head up, pulls his headphones down.   
  
Dustin glares at him. "So you are listening. I suggest you call him and tell him you're sorry because if you fucking don't he's going to be gone and it'll all be your fault."   
  
Mark glares. "It wasn't my fault. He -"   
  
"I don't care. I could care less about fault. Mark, fuck, you're going to lose the best thing that's ever happened to you, barring perhaps Facebook, because of your pride?"   
  
When you put it that way, yes, it does sound fairly silly.   
  
Mark shuts his eyes.   
  
Dustin puts a hand on his shoulder. "I know it's scary. But - you can't go through life being afraid of things like this." His voice is soft.   
  
"I'm not scared." Mark shrugs him off, and pulls out his phone.   
  
Dustin nods. "Good," and leaves.   
  
He dials the number before his nerves get the better of him and lets it ring.   
  
Wardo answers. "What do you want, Mark?"   
  
"I'm sorry," Mark says.   
  
"I don't care."   
  
"Talk to me."   
  
"Why?"   
  
"Because I don't want - you can't leave again, okay, Wardo, don't leave me, at least not without - talking about this. It was a fight, couples have those, especially us." He stops. "Please."   
  
"I'll be - we can talk at your house later." Wardo licks his lips; Mark can hear it. "I'll see you then."   
  
Mark nods.

 

//

  


Wardo's already there when he gets home.   
  
He stands up when Mark gets out of his car and is running to him, grabbing him, kissing him before Mark can say a word.   
  
"Fuck," Mark whispers when they part.   
  
Wardo raises an eyebrow, smirking. It looks like an expression Mark would make. "Let's go back inside."   
  
He presses Mark against the door when they get there, kissing him hard, insistent. Mark's legs part and Wardo steps between them, pressing against him, and Mark can barely handle it.   
  
His head thunks back against the wall and Wardo smirks again, bites at his collarbone.    
  
"Bedroom?" Mark gets out, eyes shut, and Wardo nods, kissing him again, dragging him down the hallway.   
  
He shoves Mark down on the bed when they get there and doesn't waste a moment before crawling on top of him, straddling him.   
  
Mark has never seen this side of Wardo before, this  _possessive_  side of him, but he likes it, wants to see more of it.   
  
He leans up, bites at Wardo's jaw, gets his hands pressed to the sheets in return, and doesn’t move.   
  
"You left," Mark accuses, without any real heat.   
  
Wardo freezes, bites at Mark's neck. "You were an asshole."   
  
"Don't call me that," Mark hisses, staring up at him, "I just -"   
  
"Fuck," Wardo whispers, and then, "we'll finish this discussion later."   
  
He nearly rips off Mark's shirt and Mark's harder than he's ever been before. Wardo's biting at his nipples, and he moans around Wardo's name, eyes shutting, hips jerking up.   
  
Wardo leans up to get his own shirt off and Mark switches their positions, because he's not an asshole and he's keeping the control.   
  
"Fuck," Wardo whimpers, and Mark licks at his nipples, palming Wardo through his jeans.   
  
Mark pulls away.   
  
Wardo lets out a strangled sob, staring at him.   
  
Mark raises an eyebrow at him and Wardo's hips are jerking. Mark stops him with a hand on his thigh and Wardo lets out another whimper that goes straight to Mark's cock.   
  
He closes his eyes for a moment because it's all too much and then he's peeling down Wardo's jeans, slowly, tossing them to the side.   
  
He runs his hand over Wardo's cock, light, experimental.   
  
Wardo lets out another strangled sound, hips jerking up again.   
  
"Stay. Still," Mark hisses through his teeth, pressing down on Wardo's thighs.   
  
He gets a nod in return, and Wardo bites down on his lower lip.   
  
Mark kisses him, then, licking at the indentations in Wardo's lip, and his hand squeezes Wardo's thigh.   
  
He feels Wardo's cock twitch and he pulls away to raise an eyebrow.   
  
Wardo swallows, visibly, and bites his lip again.   
  
Mark pulls away further, pressing both hands on Wardo's thighs, rubbing lightly.   
  
"Fuck," Wardo hisses, and he's shaking with the effort of keeping still.    
  
Mark kisses him again and whispers "You don't need to be still," and keeps his hands on Wardo's thighs - and under him he feels Wardo's hips moving, jerking, and his nails dig into his thighs and Wardo's coming between them, letting out a gasp against Mark's lips.   
  
Mark pulls away, and he's so hard it hurts and Wardo came from nothing more than Mark's hands on his  _thighs_.   
  
And fuck if that's not the hottest thing Mark's ever seen.   
  
He's blushing - which, what the  _fuck_ , does he really not see how hot that is? - and reaching up to drag Mark down with him, pull off his jeans and boxers, sliding down Mark before he can say a word.   
  
Mark comes too quickly and Wardo kisses the inside of his thigh with a smile.

//

Later, Wardo brings it up again.   
  
"You  _were_  being an asshole."  
  
"My work is important to me."  
  
"I want to be important to you, too," Wardo says, under his breath.  
  
Mark snorts. "Don't be stupid, of course you're important."  
  
Wardo leans up, stares at him. "What - really?"  
  
And maybe that's it - maybe it's insecurity that's caused this. "Of course - fuck, Wardo, of course you - you mean a lot to me."  
  
Wardo closes his eyes and leans against Mark, kissing his stomach. "I'm sorry I left."  
  
"I'm not," Mark says, grinning. "We had fantastic sex."  
  
Wardo smiles, a real smile, and he looks almost scared. "I'm sorry if I was out of line, with the -"  
  
"Never," Mark says, and presses a kiss to his lips. "You're not - fuck, you're not out of line, ever."  
  
He thinks  _I love you_  but he doesn't say it, again, because it'll be cheap, because - because he's scared of his feelings not returned, doesn't know how to deal with that if it's the case.  
  
Wardo stares at him for a moment, as though he's pondering it, and then grins. "You - I don't - it shouldn't be this easy."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I shouldn't - it can't be this simple, after a fight like that."  
  
Mark shrugs. "We'll always have fights. We'll always recover."  
  
"How can you be so sure?" Wardo asks, whispers.  
  
 _Because I love you._  "Because I'm not giving you up that easily."  
  
It sounds trite to his own ears, but it seems to be enough for Wardo, who smiles a pleased, secret smile.   
  
"I'm not, either," he says, and licks his lips.  
  
Mark kisses him.  
  
Perhaps they haven't talked enough, but that can be for tomorrow.

_ _

_  
_

_ _ _ Tomorrow _ .

 

//

  


Mark is most certainly not freaking out.   
  
The thing of it is - and he doesn't like to admit it but people tell him that it's true - that he's afraid of being left.   
  
He's always had  _abandonment issues_ , is the way that Chris puts it, but Mark thinks he's just being over-dramatic, as per usual.   
  
He just - doesn't like to be left behind.   
  
He doesn't like to be sure of where he's going one day and have that ripped out from beneath him.   
  
(That's what happened, before.   
  
One day Wardo was there and then he wasn't.   
  
Mark couldn't handle it.   
  
Dustin still brings it up, sometimes, when they're drunk. He turns to Mark and says things like  _Are you okay?_  and Mark cringes but he appreciates it, really.   
  
He remembers, a long time ago, remembers being at a party for some fucking thing and running into the bathroom, standing over the sink, heaving because he couldn't get the feeling of emptiness out of his stomach. He remembers trembling, fingers unable to keep a proper grip on the porcelain, and missing something he hadn't realized he'd had before he lost it.   
  
He remembers Dustin, running in, because if there was one person to get it, always, it was Dustin,  _is_  Dustin.)   
  
He opens his eyes, shakes his head, because that's behind him - because Wardo's not going to leave him again, not even if he doesn't love back - because he wouldn't do that, to Mark.   
  
Would he?   
  
//   
  
Mark is terrified.   
  
He feels the words on his tongue and he knows that they're true but he doesn't know if Wardo will believe him.   
  
There's a lot of shit between them, behind them (in front of them?), and their relationship is real but he doesn't know how much it means, to Wardo.   
  
//   
  
He's frightened and he's jumpy, now, and Wardo notices, of course he does.   
  
He pulls away, frowning. "Mark?" he asks, after Mark's jumped every time Wardo's hand landed on his skin.   
  
Mark swallows. "Yeah?"   
  
Wardo raises an eyebrow.   
  
Mark closes his eyes.   
  
"Mark," and his voice is too close for this, too near Mark. "Mark, what's wrong?"   
  
There's a hand on his arm and one on his hip and Mark cannot think, can't do anything but breathe, shaky, and he's surrounded by Wardo.   
  
"Mark?" and he sounds nervous, now.   
  
Mark opens his eyes. "I love you," and it's terrifying and natural, all at the same time.   
  
Wardo swallows.   
  
Mark doesn't blink, doesn't move his eyes.   
  
"I - what?" and Wardo's voice is sheltered, and Mark can't fucking read him for the first time in his fucking life.   
  
Mark bites at his lip. "I - love you," because he said it once and he'll say it again and he's not going to let Wardo take  _saying_  it away from him, even if he takes - everything else.   
  
( _Please don't let him take everything else._ )   
  
And then Wardo's laughing, smiling, face-splittingly wide, and that isn't a phrase that people say but Mark  _doesn't give a fuck_.   
  
Wardo says it back.   
  
He whispers it into Mark's hip, "I love you," soft and sweet, like a secret, and Mark arches up against him, fingers pressing against the back of Wardo's neck, and he hears a sharp intake of breath and then Wardo's on top of him, pressing him down onto the couch, kissing him, rough.   
  
"Please," he hears him whisper, and Mark's mind freezes on that.   
  
"What do you want?" he asks, barely a breath.   
  
"Touch me," and his voice is cracked, broken, already.   
  
_ Mark did that _ . Mark's the one making Wardo like this, flushed and wide-eyed, begging to be touched.   
  
And Mark doesn't know what to do with that. He swallows, thick, and slowly, so slowly, removes Wardo's clothing, kissing each inch of skin until Wardo's writhing under him.   
  
"Please," he says, a broken whisper, and Mark nods.   
  
He fucks him slowly, and Wardo tries to shift against him but Mark keeps a hand on his hip, almost a warning, and he stills.   
  
Wardo comes without being touched, spilling over both of them, and Mark follows quickly, biting into Wardo's shoulder, muffling his shout.   
  
It's surreal, and they look at each other for a long moment, and Mark swallows, reaches out to trace Wardo's cheek.   
  
"I love you," he says again, and it's easy, like code, like kissing Wardo, like walking into the kitchen and having a cup of coffee waiting for him.   
  
Wardo smiles. "I love you, too," and he kisses him, smiling against Mark's lips.

 

He sleeps.

 

//

 

Things aren't different, when they wake up.

  
Wardo still smiles at him the same way, and Mark stands on his tiptoes to kiss him, and, yeah, he's becoming far too dependent on him -   
  
but he can't make himself care, not when Wardo's laughing into his mouth, pulling him tight, whispering soft  _I love you_ 's against his ear before Mark leaves.   
  
He's happy, he thinks, and he doesn't know if he deserves it but he's not going to complain.

  
//

  
Mark understands what people mean, now.

  
He’s never gotten the whole  _I am so in love, I’d die for this person_  types of relationships – it seems unhealthy, bordering obsessive.

  
He doesn’t know if he’d die for Wardo but he loves him, more than words can say.

  
He doesn’t know how to use his words, but he thinks Wardo understands – because sometimes he kisses the spot just below Mark’s ear and whispers “ _Te amo, querido,”_  against his skin and Mark fucking melts.

  
(The first time this happens he doesn’t bother trying to get to the bedroom, just grabs Eduardo by the hips and pushes him against the table, licking into his mouth, hands squeezing tight against his hips.

  
Wardo had come almost untouched, hips pushing against Mark’s, and he’d gotten him against the floor, swallowing him down whole, and Mark had almost screamed when he came.

  
Wardo had grinned at him, lazy and soft, and Mark had kissed him until they both got hard again, lazily rocking against one another on the tile floor until they came, hot and pulling over both of them.

  
“I love you,” Wardo had whispered in his ear, and Mark had shuddered, hot, and kissed him again, harsh, teeth and tongue and  _want_ , pouring out of him.)

  
He’s never going to get tired of hearing Wardo say that.

  
_I love you._

  
He’s never going to get tired of saying it, either. He tries, now, every day – he says it whenever he remembers, whenever it crosses his mind, because for all that he’s a cold-hearted asshole (depending on who you ask) he wants Wardo to know just how much he means.

  
“I love you,” he whispers, in Wardo’s ear as he’s making dinner one night.

  
Wardo turns around, surprised, and Mark kisses him, hot and filthy against the counter, dropping to his knees, teasing him, light flicks of his tongue, and Wardo comes all over his face, biting into his hand to muffle a cry.

  
Their dinner burns but neither of them mind; they order Chinese and eat it in the backyard, Mark leaning back against Wardo’s legs.

  
//

  
Things are sort of perfect.

  
Mark’s not one to think like that – he doesn’t think many things can be perfect, doesn’t really believe in that idea (the perfect fairy-tale, he tells himself, is bullshit, a farce) but it’s close enough, with Wardo.

  
It’s legs tangled together on the couch and Wardo picking Mark up when he forgets what he has waiting for him; he comes in when Mark’s not home by midnight and pulls him away from the computer with gentle kisses and whispers of “you can finish tomorrow, Mark, come home, honey” and Mark isn’t stupid enough to turn that down.

  
It feels too domestic, almost, and Mark waits for the inevitable end to the happiness, waits for everything to be ripped out from beneath him, everything to go wrong – or, at least,  _something_  to go wrong.

  
Even so, he’s not entirely prepared when it does.

  
//

  
It starts with Sean.

  
He’s talking to Mark at the office, leaning against his desk, and Mark’s laughing – and it’s late, all right, and he’s about to leave and so he pulls Sean into a hug – he hasn’t gotten enough sleep in a while, a few days, but the update’s gone well and Sean’s sober and he’s allowed to hug him, he thinks.

  
He hears the snap of a door and looks up to see Wardo walking away,  _storming_  away.

  
“What,” Mark says, halfway dumbfounded, and it takes Sean pushing him away ( _Get out of here, Mark!_ ) for him to start running after him.

  
“Wardo,” he says, soft, when he gets within earshot.

  
He whips around, eyes fiercely hot. “What was that.”

  
“I was – what?”

  
“That’s a good question. What  _were_  you doing?”

  
“Saying goodbye to Sean.”

  
Wardo lets out a sound that sounds like a sob and Mark freezes, because –

  
“You can’t – Wardo, you can’t think there’s anything between Sean and me –”

  
“Oh? And why can’t I?”

  
“Because that’s fucking  _ridiculous_ , I love  _you_ , not –”

  
“Don’t you pull that shit on me, I remember Palo Alto –”

  
“Don’t you dare bring that up –” and he cuts himself off because they’re shouting, now, and he pulls Wardo outside, into his car, away from anyone that might hear.

  
As soon as they get inside they’re shouting at each other again, not moving from the parking lot, Wardo looking close to fucking tears which isn’t  _fair_ , Mark hasn’t done anything wrong.

  
“You never think about anyone but yourself!” he shouts, and that’s it, that’s the last fucking straw.

  
“If that’s really what you think, then get out of my car,” Mark says, voice low, deadly. He turns to look at Wardo, and he’s not sure what he sees there. He loves him but not like this, not when it’s jealousy years in the making and hate behind eyes filled with tears. He doesn’t know this Wardo, this Wardo shouting at him for  _hugging_  someone else, and it’s been too long without sleep for him to be able to deal with this. “We can talk about this later if you want but right now I don’t want you here.”

  
Wardo’s own eyes widen before narrowing, sharp. “What?” His voice is icy.

  
“If you honestly believe that after all this time I’d do something like that, clearly we don’t know each other. Get. Out. Of. My. Car.” His hands tighten on the steering wheel and he forces himself to keep his eyes on Eduardo, biting down hard on his lower lip.

 

“Fine.”

 

And Wardo gets out, without another word.

  
Mark drives away, forcing himself to think about anything else.

 

//

 

They don’t talk for a long time.

  
It’s two weeks before Mark gets up the courage to check his email – his personal email, not work. He throws himself into the code, into Facebook, into everything that doesn’t involve Eduardo – because he needs him too much, wants him too much, misses him more than words can say and more than he should be allowed.

  
He stays at the office until his vision goes blurry and Chris leads him from the computer; until he can’t do anything but close his eyes, shaking his head, and let himself be led home. He can’t drive himself, when he gets like that; doesn’t trust himself on the road.

  
Chris comes in with him and gives him a hug (and Mark stiffens at the touch; he notices touching so much more now, notices when people are close, even the lightest of brushes drawing all of his attention) and Mark shuts his eyes.

  
“Sleep,” Chris says, and when Mark gets a good look at him he looks legitimately concerned. “Please.”

  
Mark nods, and for the first time sleeps through the night – well past that, actually.

  
When he wakes up, it’s to the smell of coffee, and he buries his head in the blankets, convinced he’s asleep – because only one person has made coffee in his coffeemaker since he bought the house and it certainly isn’t Mark.

  
And then he hears singing, soft, something in Portuguese – and his heart slams against his ribcage. He feels almost breathless, eyes shut tight, and he makes a low sound, the aching  _want_  to be downstairs overpowering him.

  
But – he has to take a moment, collect himself, because he has to calm down, has to push down the anger roiling through him, the hurt coursing through his blood.

  
“Wardo,” he whispers, and the word feels heavy in his chest.

  
He can’t avoid this forever, though, and so he stands up, bones shaking a bit, and closes his eyes.

  
“Okay,” he whispers, and walks downstairs.

  
There’s a plate of eggs on the table, bacon cooking, coffee dripping – and Mark has to swallow past a gasp, past a noise at all, standing in the doorway.

  
Eduardo looks so  _comfortable_ , here, and he hasn’t been here for three weeks but he looks like he belongs.

  
Mark should probably be angry that Eduardo’s here. He should probably be worried that Eduardo can get inside, that he felt that he  _could_ , that he was allowed.

  
But that’s bullshit because he  _is_ , because Mark would never dare turn him away.

  
“Wardo,” Mark says, and there’s the barest layer of anger in his chest but he steps on it.

  
Wardo turns around, eyes wide. “Mark,” he gets out, biting his lip.

  
And then Mark’s across the kitchen, kissing him,  _hard_ , licking his way into his mouth.

  
They need to talk, they need to discuss the bullshit that’s gone on between them but – but he can’t do anything but kiss Wardo, for now, but hold him tight and pull him close, because he’s been gone too long and Mark’s missed him too much.

  
“Mark,” he hears panted into his ear, and Wardo sounds almost pained, out of breath, “Mark –” and then he’s sucking at Mark’s neck, fingers digging little bruises into Mark’s hips.

  
And they need to talk. They need to discuss everything because clearly both of them have some issues that are going to fuck them up – but right now Mark wants nothing more than to kiss him, than to let himself fall into Wardo, again.

  
He drops to his knees, because he can, because he’s missed it, and hazards a glance up at Wardo.

  
His mouth is wide and he just nods, biting down on his lower lip.

  
Mark digs his thumbs into Wardo’s hips, because he can, because he relishes the look on Wardo’s face when he does (and he’s missed that, maybe not most but certainly a  _lot_ ) and presses his face into Wardo’s crotch, breathing in, nuzzling his cock.

  
“Mark, Jesus Christ,  _deus,_ ” Wardo breathes out, hand tangling in Mark’s hair and staying there. Mark makes a pleased sound and nods before pulling away enough to get Wardo’s slacks down around his knees, and sinks his mouth down onto his cock.

  
Wardo keeps up a running commentary – “Mark, god, missed this so much, missed  _you_  so much, never leaving again,  _Mark_ , Mark, I love you,  _Mark_ ,” and Mark takes it, takes in every word, letting it sink deep into him, and closes his eyes.

  
When Wardo comes it’s with a soundless scream and Mark swallows, sitting back on his heels for just a moment before Wardo drags him up to kiss him,  _hard_.

  
“I love you,” he whispers into Mark’s ear, hand possessive on his lower back.

  
“I love you, too,” Mark says, kissing him again, softer, now.

  
They eat breakfast together and Mark steals glances whenever he can. Wardo looks – fucking wrecked, to be honest, hair a mess and eyes red-rimmed.

  
“We need to talk,” Mark says, then, looking down at his plate, messing with the food. “I know you don’t want to – but we need to. I mean – I can’t – I don’t want to  _do_  that again.”

  
Wardo nods. “I know –”

  
Mark breathes out. “There’s nothing between me and Sean.”

  
Wardo’s still for a long moment.

  
“And I need you to know that because if you don’t – I don’t think we really know each other that well, after all,” Mark says, and he feels like the worst kind of asshole but that has to be said, because the idea – the idea that he’d ever want anyone but Eduardo is fucking insane.

  
“I know,” Wardo gets out after a long moment, and he’s staring at his now-empty plate, eyes wide. “I mean – I know, but –”

  
“Don’t you trust me?” Mark asks, and his voice is soft – and he’s just had an orgasm and this probably isn’t the right time to have this conversation but if he says things like that, it never will be.

  
Eduardo looks up at him, and his eyes are too wide.

  
It’s all the answer Mark needs.

  
“Oh,” he says, after a long moment, and stares down at his lap.

  
“I know it’s ludicrous,” Eduardo says, voice rough, cracked. “I know – but you – I don’t – I don’t know how to trust you.”

  
“You can fuck me but you can’t trust me not to fuck anyone else,” and the anger wells up in him because he  _isn’t that person_ , he’s not that kind of person and he’d never do anything like that to Wardo,  _Christ._

  
“Why should I?” Wardo asks, voice sharp. “You cut me out –”

  
“Years ago!” Mark shouts, standing up, and he takes his plate to the sink, staring into it for a long moment before whirling back around. “I’ve gotten better, you know I have! I was nineteen and a fucking idiot and if you can’t accept that I’ve  _changed_ then I don’t know why you’re here.”

  
“Because I love you,” Wardo gets out, and it’s the last straw.

  
“Do you?” Mark asks, the words crueler, possibly, than he should be being. “Do you really or do you just love the attention saying it gets you?”

  
Wardo stands up, looking absolutely scandalized. “Fuck you,” he hisses.

  
“Don’t think I should,” Mark spits out. “Wouldn’t want you to catch anything.”

  
The words are harsh and awful and they’re everything Mark tries not to be but that’s how it is – because this is how fighting goes, with them, it’s all or nothing, it’s everything they can do to hurt each other.

  
Eduardo stares at him, and his eyes are blazing. “Years ago and you’ve never properly apologized.”

  
“You didn’t seem to mind when you were fucking me,” Mark breathes out, sharp, and it feels too loud in the room, too  _real_.

  
“It’s always about sex, for you, isn’t it,” Eduardo says, shaking his head, and he walks to the door.

  
“Don’t you walk out on me,” Mark says, and he sounds like a character from a romance novel but he doesn’t give a shit, isn’t going to watch Eduardo leave him again.

  
“Why shouldn’t I?”

  
“Because  _I’m not that kid_  and neither are you,” Mark snaps, shaking his head. “We’re grown up, now, okay, you don’t get to leave when you’re angry. There’s no Facemash and there’s no account to freeze. We talk our shit out or this ends now.”

  
Eduardo’s hand stills on the doorknob.

  
“It’s not all about sex,” Mark says, biting his lip, and he’s across the room because if he were any closer he’s afraid of what he’d do. “It’s never been like that.”

  
“Maybe that’s all it should be,” Eduardo says, soft, and the handle turns.

  
“Bullshit,” Mark breathes and he’s across the room, a hand on Eduardo’s shoulder, pulling him in, away from the outside, away from the place that they both like to hide in. “That’s bullshit, Wardo.”

  
“Is it?” he asks, and his voice is low, livid.

  
“Yeah, it is,” Mark snaps, and the anger roils up in him but he forces his voice to be calm because he can’t fight, anymore, isn’t going to shout. “It is because you – you wouldn’t let me touch you unless – unless it was more, unless you  _wanted_  more. You’re not that kind of –”

  
“How would you know?” Eduardo asks,  _snaps_ , turning back around, and he gets Mark up against the wall, pressing in against him. “How would you know what kind of person I am when you haven’t been around in years?”

  
“People don’t change that much,” Mark gets out, and he’s angry and upset and weirdly turned on at the position they’re in right now.

  
“How do you  _know_?” Wardo asks, and it feels like more, like something beyond the question itself. “How do you know I’m not that kind of person?”

  
“Because – you were always too nice,” Mark says, “back at Harvard – you were too nice and too emotional and –”

  
“That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t –”

  
“Shut up,” Mark grits out, staring at him.

  
Wardo shuts up.

  
“You – you just – you’re not that kind of person. Christy blew you in a bathroom and you dated her.”

  
“We had chemistry.”

  
“She tried to set you on fire.”

  
“I don’t think it was that bad.”

  
Mark’s going to continue, but he can’t shake this – the idea that this is so temporary, that they’re going to start screaming in a minute, again, worse. “Do you –” he starts, and then cuts himself off, shaking his head. It’s a moment before he can continue. “Do you really think that I’d cheat on you?”

  
Eduardo seems to deflate against the door, and he bites his lip, looking down.

  
It’s all the answer Mark needs.

  
“Okay,” he says, soft, and nods, looking back up at him. “You – you’re released.”

  
“What?” Eduardo sounds actually shocked, which – that’s not okay.

  
“You can leave if you want.” Mark closes his eyes, tight, balls up his fists to keep from reaching out. “You don’t have to be here.”

  
“But –”

  
“If you think that, you don’t know me,” Mark says, “and I swear to God, if you bring up what I did when I was  _nineteen_  again I am going to punch you as hard as I can. If you can’t accept that I’ve grown up then I don’t think this is going to work.”

  
“Mark,” Eduardo says, voice soft, pleading, but Mark refuses to look up, to give in. He’s not that person anymore and Eduardo needs to see that – and if he doesn’t, there’s no point in trying.

  
“Goodbye,” Eduardo finally whispers, after a long moment, and he leaves.

  
Mark sucks in a breath and tries not to fall apart.

  
//

  
“What’s wrong?” Dustin asks him as soon as he walks in the office.

  
Contrary to what people seem to think, he has a real knack for telling when people are upset, and getting them to a place that’s better than where they are.

  
Mark can barely breathe, though, and he just shakes his head, sharp.

  
“You need something to do,” Dustin says, because he’s brilliant that way. “Good, because there was an incident.”

  
It takes a while for him to fix the problem, but when he does the hurt smashes back into him, hot and loud.

  
 _You asshole_ , he thinks, and he doesn’t know who he’s talking to.

  
Eduardo’s  _gone_. Mark’s told him to leave and so he left – and he’s not going to come back, this time. Mark barely held on those three weeks but now he needs to let go of the idea that his Wardo will come back – because they’re too different, maybe, because maybe there are some hurts that can’t be fixed.

  
And he curls up, for a moment, into a ball on his chair, and he lets the pain course through him.

  
And then he opens his eyes, and goes back to his work, as he always has before – his work that’s a constant, a steady thrum of work that doesn’t hurt him, doesn’t fight, doesn’t do anything but what Mark tells it to, exactly.

  
And maybe that’s what love is about – maybe it’s hurt and tears and coming back together, time and time again, but maybe it’s not meant to happen so big. Maybe they hurt each other beyond repair when they were nineteen and so fucking stupid – maybe Mark went too far or Eduardo got too hurt, and maybe they can’t ever return to what they might have had given half a chance and better communication skills.

  
At home, there’s a plate of food still on the table, and Mark doesn’t want to go home to that, doesn’t want to have to clean it up – because maybe if he doesn’t see it, it won’t have happened. Maybe he can keep hoping, because maybe it’s not true that they’re broken – maybe he’ll see Eduardo, again.

  
The thought is strangely pathetic, even for Mark, and he closes his eyes, again.

  
He’s not going to see Eduardo again – or, at least, not soon. He has to get his head around that because otherwise he’s going to keep wanting and keep hoping and that’s not healthy or fair.

  
Wardo said “goodbye” and it felt like a finale, like an ending worthy of the two of them. He said goodbye and he left and he hasn’t been in touch since – and it’s different because where before they were angry and shouting and  _livid_ , that time he was soft and quiet and  _sad_. So sad, like a different person, a different Wardo – and Mark hates to think that he was the cause of a change like that because Wardo (his Wardo, the Wardo he’s pretty sure will always be  _his_  even long after they’ve faded to a memory) is fairly near perfect as it is.

  
And so he’ll wait and move on.

  
He has to.

  
//

  
He doesn’t leave work until it’s very, very late.

  
It’s four in the morning by the time he shuts his laptop down, but he feels wired; he’s had three Red Bulls in the past hour and countless more during the day, and he’s jittery when he drives, almost to the point of dangerous – but no one else is on the road, no one else would be stupid enough to  _drive_  like this.

  
He pulls up and there’s a car in front of his house – a car that he recognizes – and all of the careful planning he’d done, all of the convincing he’d managed to do, flies out of the window.

  
His hands are shaking when he gets out of the car, and he unlocks the door after a few fumbled tries.

  
“Eduardo?” he calls into the house, because maybe he’s still a little bit angry and he doesn’t know if  _Wardo_ is appropriate.

  
There’s no response and he frowns, walking further into the house.

  
Eduardo’s asleep on the couch.  
  
Mark takes a moment to let himself smile at that, looking down, but then the nerves creep up on him again.

 _In the morning_ , he tells himself, because he’s not actually enough of an asshole to wake up his – Eduardo at four in the morning to discuss  _the future_  and other stupid shit like that.

  
He grabs a blanket from the closet, draping it over him.

  
“Good night, Wardo,” he whispers, and crawls into the easy chair opposite the couch.

  
He sleeps.

  
//

  
He wakes up to sun streaming in through the window and Eduardo’s soft snoring.

  
He keeps his eyes shut for a long moment, and he doesn’t reach out for Eduardo; he’s not going to fall into that trap again, isn’t going to do that  _thing_  where they act as they’re fine and scream. That’s not – it’s not healthy and it’s not okay.

  
He rolls over, though, and watches Eduardo sleep. It’s probably at least a little bit creepy, but Mark doesn’t really give a fuck.

  
Eduardo looks – he looks soft, in sleep, soft and a little bit sad, and Mark wants to hold him tight, wants to apologize for everything that he said and make Eduardo feel okay again.

  
But they need to talk, first, because Mark’s – he’s  _hurt_ , because he’s not the same and he can’t believe that an Eduardo that would fall in love with him would think that he was.

  
“Wardo,” he whispers, and clears his throat. “Wardo,” he says, again, louder.

  
He watches Eduardo wake up, eyes squeezing tight before opening. “Mark?” he says, voice rough, and shakes his head, sitting up. “Shit.”

  
“You were asleep when I got back,” Mark says, sitting up himself, and bites his lip. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  
“I appreciate it,” Eduardo says, and forces a smile at Mark.

  
There’s silence for a moment.

  
“Did you want to say anything?” Mark asks, looking down at his hands, twisting them together.

  
Eduardo clears his throat. “Um.”

  
“Eloquent,” Mark says, before he can stop himself, and winces.

  
“Shut up,” but this is fond, rather than angry, and Eduardo really smiles. “I – okay.”

  
“Okay?”

  
“I want you to know – that I love you. A lot.”

  
That sounds like the beginning of a break-up speech, and though Mark was expecting it, the words make him curl in on himself, a bit.

  
He stares down at his hands. “Yeah.”

  
“And – I don’t – I don’t like Sean.”

  
“I know.”

  
“Please let me finish.”

  
Mark just looks at him, biting his lip again.

  
“I don’t like Sean but – but that’s not reason to take it out on you. And I’m – I’m sorry.”

  
It’s absurd that they’re having this conversation at eight in the morning (and Mark’s still exhausted, not entirely convinced he’s altogether awake) but Mark doesn’t care, just nods. “Okay.”

  
“And I hope that you – you wouldn’t cheat on me.”

  
Mark nods again.

  
Eduardo swallows visibly. “I just – I can’t – I don’t – I don’t deserve you, Mark,” he breathes out.

  
Mark looks at him, sharp. “What?”

  
“I don’t – you’re smart and brilliant and – and you did some shit things when you were younger but I think everyone did, really, and –”

  
“If you say you thought I was cheating because there’s no way that you deserve me all to yourself,” Mark says, dry, “I will actually hurt you.”

  
Eduardo is tellingly silent, face pink.

  
“Holy shit,” Mark says, and he runs a hand over his face. “I – you – that is so ludicrous I can’t even deal with it.”

  
“Sorry,” Eduardo whispers, and he sounds miserable.

  
Mark takes a long moment to just look at him, and if Mark’s not been getting sleep it looks like Eduardo hasn’t, either. His eyes are red-rimmed and there are circles under them, dark circles, and he looks miserable.

  
Mark stands up, careful, and sits down next to Eduardo, grabbing his hand and lacing their fingers together. He tries not to notice how Eduardo shivers and clings, tight, but he fails.

  
“I wouldn’t,” Mark whispers, “you have to know that, I wouldn’t – hurt you intentionally –”

  
“I know,” Eduardo says.

  
“Do you?” This is soft, pleading, because Mark needs Eduardo to know but he doesn’t know how to make him.

  
After a long moment, Eduardo nods, smiling a bit. “Yeah.”

  
Mark closes his eyes and rests his head on Eduardo’s shoulder, smiling a bit. “Good.”

  
He feels Eduardo sink back against the couch, and knows without looking that his eyes are shut tight, that he has a small smile on his face. “Are we?”

  
“Sure,” Mark whispers.

  
It feels – it feels like it’s not enough, like they need to really talk their shit out, but maybe this is how they should do it. Maybe it should be careful, soft, because that’s how they need to be.

  
“Sleep,” Mark whispers, and Eduardo nods, kisses the top of Mark’s forehead.

  
Mark settles in against him, and sleeps.

  
//

  
When they wake up, it’s decidedly awkward.

  
Eduardo’s looking anywhere but at Mark, and Mark takes a moment to feel real worry course through him, before shaking his head, sharp.

  
“If you don’t talk to me we’re never going to get less awkward,” he points out.

  
Eduardo nods, and bites his lip. It’s stupidly attractive, but Mark focuses on anything but at that.

  
“Look,” Eduardo says, and this is the end, Mark tells himself, eyes shutting – this is it, this is – “I don’t like sleeping alone.”

  
Mark frowns. “Niether do I.”

  
“I’ve been staying at hotels – and it’s silly and it’s bullshit, all right, that I should keep staying there. Yeah?”

  
Mark nods, slow, frowning a bit.

  
“And I know that I never officially moved in but – I keep all of my shit here, because I don’t – you know, have a house here – and –”

  
“Move in,” Mark says, quick, smiling.

  
Eduardo freezes. “You still want me to?”

  
“You idiot,” Mark says, laughing, and pulls him in close, hugging him tight. “I went three weeks without you, of course I want you here all of the time.”

  
Eduardo smiles, kissing the top of his head again, and he’s shivering slightly. “You know what else we went three weeks without?”

  
Mark raises an eyebrow, and trails a hand down Eduardo’s side, grinning. “Yeah,” he whispers, kissing him again, hard.

  
He drags him into the bedroom.

  
They don’t leave that day.

  
//

  
In the morning, Mark wakes up entangled with Wardo.

  
He swallows, reaching out just a bit, to brush aside his hair, to let his hand linger on Eduardo’s face.

  
Last night –

  
(Hands, reaching out, holding tight. Eduardo, above him, sliding into him, so  _slow_ , slack-jawed and almost reverent.

  
A whispered  _Mark_ , almost a prayer, more than a moan.)

  
\- was fantastic and Mark  _has him back_  now but they haven’t talked, they still haven’t talked, and Mark’s watched enough romantic comedies to know that it’s an important part of the relationship.

  
Now, though, now he’s content to lie next to Wardo, to look at him, biting his lip.

  
He’s missed this, most of all. He’s missed waking up next to his Wardo and he’s missed eating breakfast together and all of the other stupid, awful things that boyfriends do. He’s missed holding Wardo’s hand and kissing his knuckles and just  _being_  together.  
  
He’s being stupidly sappy and just plain  _stupid_  but he doesn’t really mind – because Eduardo, inexplicably, wants him anyway.

  
He feels more than sees Eduardo’s waking up – his breathing just the slightest bit faster, hitching out a bit, the rustling of  the sheets.

  
“Morning,” Mark whispers, pressing a kiss to Wardo’s neck, and he smiles against the skin.

  
He feels Wardo freeze and then look at him, eyes wide. “Oh.”

  
Mark pulls away, frowning. “Oh?"

  
“No – not like that. I just – oh,” and Wardo sounds a bit shell-shocked, but not upset.

  
“Do you not want to be here?” Mark asks, staring at Wardo’s shoulder, very determinedly not looking at his face.

  
“What?” and he sounds so shocked that Mark looks up, catches his eye. “Mark, that’s – that’s not it at  _all_.” He reaches out, pulling Mark close, and kisses him, sweet, tender, warm.

  
“Are you sure?” Mark asks, because as much as he likes kissing, he actually prefers having a relationship that isn’t on-and-off. They’re not children.

  
Eduardo nods, swallowing. It’s loud in the otherwise quiet room. “Yeah,” he whispers.

  
Mark shakes his head. “This – this can’t – we can’t do this.”

  
He’s lying, facing Eduardo, and he reaches out to rest a hand on Eduardo’s hip – on  _Wardo’s_  hip.

  
“I don’t want – three weeks, Wardo. I can’t do that again, every time you get – jealous,” and Mark’s eyes are shut tight, because he doesn’t know what Wardo’s face will say and he can’t deal with more  _hurt_.

  
The voice, when it comes, is low, and soothing. “I know, Mark,” and it’s almost a whisper.

  
Mark forces his eyes open, fingers tightening on the waist. “I can’t – I’m not that person anymore,” because he  _isn’t_ , because that’s what he needs Wardo to know, most of all.

  
“I know.”

  
“And I’m so fucking sorry.”

  
“What?”

  
“For – everything.”

  
“Mark, you’ve already –”

  
“I know,” Mark whispers. “And I don’t want to apologize a thousand times, with a thousand qualifiers – but I am, I’m so sorry. I was nineteen and fucking  _stupid_  and if you think that there’s anything with me and Sean, then obviously I haven’t made that clear enough – and that’s on me, not you.”

  
Wardo frowns. “No.”

  
“What?”

  
“That’s not on you – that’s – Mark.”

  
Mark closes his eyes, sitting up a bit to run a hand through his hair. “Yeah?”

  
“You don’t need to keep apologizing.”

  
Mark frowns, nodding, staring at his hands, wringing them together.

  
“I mean it.” Eduardo leans in, pressing his face against Mark’s neck, hands resting on Mark’s hips. “Really.”

  
“Okay,” Mark whispers, but Eduardo’s left and he can’t deal with that again.

  
Eduardo pulls back. “I’m staying,” he says, definitive.

  
And Mark doesn’t know what to say to that, can only nod.

  
“Trust me,” Eduardo whispers, eyes shut, and he pulls Mark close.

  
Mark trusts.

  
//

  
He’s more careful, with Wardo.

  
He’s afraid to lose him – afraid that Eduardo’s going to leave again, going to get out, and he doesn’t know how to deal with that. He’s never been so terrified to lose someone, and so he clings onto him because he doesn’t know how to express that he’s scared, fucking terrified.

  
Eduardo gets it, though, if the way he holds Mark at night, kisses the top of his head, doesn’t let go when Mark can’t explain, is any indication.

  
And Mark – he’s happy. He’s comfortable, he’s safe. He feels safe, with Eduardo. He lets himself believe that this is forever, that this is okay, because they’ve had everything happen, been friends and then enemies and now – this, and that’s okay.

  
He doesn’t bring up Sean. He’s careful to never mention the name, because he doesn’t like the look in Eduardo’s eyes; it’s jealousy there, yes, but more than that, it’s a sadness that he doesn’t know how to help, that he doesn’t know how to reassure Wardo is entirely unfounded.

  
Because it is; because there’s never been anything,  _anything_  between Mark and Sean, and there’s never going to be – because Mark can’t imagine loving anyone the way he loves Eduardo, least of all Sean.

  
He doesn’t know how to deal.

  
//

  
He’s in his office, working on a minor problem, when Sean comes in.

  
Mark stiffens involuntarily; he hasn’t seen him much lately. Sean’s been “in rehab” again, and he looks – healthier, at least, now.

  
“You’re back,” Mark says, toneless, closing out of his tab. He cares, of course he does, but he’s worried, on edge, about this.

  
Sean smiles, and reaches out for him, pulling him into a hug. “You bet I am, baby.”

  
Mark smiles a bit, patting his back, and he sees it then – Eduardo, standing outside of his office, looking – sad, like he does when Mark mentions Sean, but times a thousand.

  
“Shit,” Mark whispers, pulling away, and Sean starts to ask but sees where he’s looking.

  
“Don’t let him walk all over you,” he whispers, giving a wink, and Mark rolls his eyes and shakes his head, walking out to Eduardo.

  
“You’re not mad, are you?” he asks, soft.

  
Wardo’s face is impressively blank. “Can we talk?”

  
Mark’s face must show the panic he’s feeling, because Wardo softens, smiling a bit. “Not like that. I just – we need to have a conversation that doesn’t involve breaking up. I promise.”

  
Mark smiles, and nods, reaching out to grab Wardo’s hand, just to be sure. He feels the faint shiver that goes through Wardo at the touch; he’s getting better at accepting the contact, at being used to it, but even now, something as simple as laced-together fingers makes him shiver, in the best way.

  
Mark lifts up their hands, because he can, and presses a quick kiss to Eduardo’s knuckle.

  
He gets a glare for that, though Eduardo doesn’t look angry – more lustful, more like he wants to take Mark apart. “Please,” he whispers, though, and so Mark nods.

  
They end up on a bench outside of the offices, and Eduardo doesn’t speak for a long moment, staring at his knees.

  
Mark finally asks. “What is it?”

  
“I don’t want to be jealous of Sean.”

  
Mark frowns. “Then don’t be.”

  
He gets a glare for that, more real this time, but nervous. “I know. I shouldn’t. But – but you’re so – and he’s –”

  
“Aside from straight, he’s an asshole and a drug addict,” Mark says. “And – there’s – he’s my best friend, probably, but nothing  _more_  than that, and he’s never going to be.”

  
“Okay,” Eduardo whispers, smiling up at him, “and I’m – I’m trying. I really am, I just –”

  
“I know,” Mark murmurs, kissing him, quick, because he does. He understands the fear, the jealousy; he feels it every time Eduardo’s around a member of the same gender, every time he sees a hand on Eduardo’s back that doesn’t belong to him.

  
“Good,” Eduardo breathes, and then they’re kissing, again. It’s urgent but Mark pulls away before it can get to be too much; he looks around them, biting his lip.

  
“After work,” he promises, eyes pleading.

  
Eduardo smiles, and nods.

  
//

  
When Mark gets home, Eduardo’s there.

  
Mark reaches out for him, pulling him into a hug. He gets like this, sometimes, needs nothing more than to hold Eduardo, to remind himself that he’s there, that they’re  _together_ , that they’re not going to be apart, not again.

  
“I love you,” he whispers, because he never tires of saying it.

  
Wardo smiles against his hair. “I love you, too.”

  
They’ll say it a thousand times more, in a thousand different places. Mark will murmur it over the phone just before a meeting and Eduardo will send him a text that says nothing but the three words. He feels it, in every inch of him, and he needs Eduardo to know that.

  
 _We’ll be okay_ , he thinks, later that night, and he’s smiling as he tugs off Eduardo’s shirt, tossing it to the ground.

  
He slides into him, later, and grabs Eduardo’s hand, kissing the knuckles again, feather-light, and Eduardo looks so fucking awed.

 

They’ll be fantastic.


End file.
